Chaos
by Bubsy1018
Summary: At the culmination of the Joker's most recent attack on Gotham City, he receives an untimely phone call that brings his anarchic plans to a stand-still...


**Hello there. :3 **

**I wrote this for my Creative Writing class, and I would love some feedback. **

**And no, I don't own the Joker. _;**

Enjoy, and please review! :)

**Chaos**

It was not a dark and stormy night.  
Unlike numerous monsters, lowlifes, criminals, devils and mad scientists depicted throughout the history of literature, the Joker considered himself to be one of the finest villains to seep out of the evil wood work of humanity. One could argue against his sinister supremacy and say that, in order for one to attain the title as the greatest villain of all time, they required not only an insurmountable amount of physical strength, but an extraordinary mind as well. The Joker wasn't physically unfit to grasp such a title; at times he gave his arch nemesis, Batman, a run for his money. However, to his chagrin, he found himself growing fond of his encounters with Batman, or 'Batsy', which he so gleefully jeered at the Dark Knight during their play dates. The Joker always dealt out his fair share of lunatic kicks and punches, and he certainly inflicted a serious amount of damage by slicing into the Bat repeatedly with one of his dozens of beloved knives and switchblades.  
At the end of the night-or beginning of the day, some of their quarrels smouldered tirelessly into the early morning- the Joker always limped or hobbled away carrying a multitude of bruises, deep slashes, and broken bones. Albeit, the madman thoroughly relished the pain, miniscule or mind-numbingly savage as it proved to be. As if the Joker's resistance to pain weren't enough to boil Batman's blood, he replaced the agony from the Bat's iron-fist blows with hoarse chuckles and mirthful giggles that eventually transcended into full out maniacal bouts of laughter.  
Despite the clown's malevolent exploits against the city of Gotham, the numerous amounts of innocent lives he had slain, and his many victories over the Bat, he had yet to be graced with a classical dark and stormy night on the eve of his anarchic triumphs.  
The Joker silently brooded that fact, his lurid black eyes focusing upon his most recent target, City Hall. The ornate double doors had crumpled pathetically beneath the sheer force of the explosion that surged its way out from the heart of the building, leaving the front entrance to appear to be the jagged, fiery entrance to Hell, flames licking at the smoky air. The chaos spilled onto the street, affecting every person who had witnessed the bombing, whether they had seen it from the innards of the once majestic City Hall or experienced the bombing from the outside. Vehicles were strewn hap-hazardously in the street, their drivers emerging to assess both the damage inflicted on their beloved cars and their beloved City Hall. A man cautiously navigating a sleek Porsche 911 through the chaotic mayhem barely managed to swerve out of the path of a rogue semi that came barrelling down the street. The sports car came to rest as it slammed into a fire hydrant, the crash resulting in a geyser of water spewing into the air.  
A quiet giggle rumbled in the clown's throat as he ran a glove clad hand through his lank green hair, a smug smirk elongating the hideous scars that trailed from the corners of his lips; who cared about dark and stormy nights? In the Joker's opinion, they were a thing of the past. He was an innovator, and he was taking it upon himself to re-write the textbook on villainous villainy. Why would an evildoer choose to destroy a famous building or monument during the night whilst the majority of society lay snuggled comfortably in their beds? Furthermore, why go through the trouble of executing a foolproof bank heist when the chances of being witnessed by the public were slim to none? The fact that criminals robbed banks for tiny, green wades of paper boggled the lunatic's mind.  
He found it far more entertaining to slice and dice at the hearts and souls of Gotham City's inhabitants, rending their faith in humanity to miniscule shreds. His line of work wasn't about money; it was about sending a message. With the decimation of Gotham's most revered, historical building, the city was under The Joker's dark shadow of control. An exhilarating thrill coursed down the lunatic's spine at the thought of ruling a city with a population of approximately thirty million people, and he rolled his hunched shoulders in a joint aching stretch, his deranged thoughts drifting to the task of re-establishing the city's rules and regulations.  
Firstly, there were no rules. And secondly...  
The Joker's speedy train of thought was brought to a resoundingly abrupt halt by the vibration of his cell phone, nestled safely within the inner breast pocket of his suit beside his favourite knife. Clucking his tongue, the madman wrestled the gadget out and glowered at the words "Unknown Number" slapped across the screen.  
Now, who could _that_ be?  
His thumb stabbed the green talk button and he lifted the phone to his ear, silently vowing that, if it was in fact a telemarketer, he'd kindly ask for the company's name and address, and make it his personal goal to blow the company building to bits and give the unfortunate person an excruciatingly slow, painful death. "What do you want?" He snarled disdainfully.  
"Well, hello to you too, Jack," a woman's voice mockingly lilted on the other end of the line. "Let me guess, another one of your foolproof plans went awry again?"  
Dread flooded through the clown as the woman whimsically uttered his real name. It was his sister, Lacy. Groaning in exasperation, the Joker held the wretched cell phone at arm's length and scowled, deciding whether or not he should fix the problem by simply hurling the flimsy device into the chaotic din below. Several beats passed before he raised the phone back to his ear, hissing, "Do you not remember what I told you when I so charitably handed my cell phone number out to you? Only call me when you're in a life or death situation!"  
"Well duh, I'm not a complete retard." The Joker opened his scarred mouth to argue against that comment, but she continued on blithely. "Seriously, Jack, I could really use your help right now."  
"Laaacy," the Joker drawled, tone growing cold and gruff. "I'm in the middle of maiming and incinerating Gotham's finest. You're a big kid now! Take care of your own issues." He groused, mockingly adopting the Huggies theme song.  
"I swear if you do this for me just once, I will be eternally grateful. I'll be your slave; I'll do whatever you want." Lacy vowed, sounding positively heartbroken.  
"I already have slaves, they're called henchmen. Remember?" He quipped, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  
"Pleeeeeease?"  
Harrumphing, the Joker looked from the flaming ruins of City Hall to the streets. Anarchy must have swept overhead while he wasn't looking, for the recently civil, complacent citizens of Gotham appeared to have given in to their primal instincts. Several burly men waltzed into an electronics store, emerging from the building lugging Xbox 360s, Playstation 3s, laptop and desktop computers. A group of men and women surged past them as soon as they leisurely strolled out with their loot, as if the brawny men were the Alphas of a pack of savage lunatics. Fights broke out. The sound of glass shattering, vehicles slamming into one another, and people brawling filled the smoky air.  
His shrivelled black heart sang at the familiarity of the madness teeming about him. It required a significant amount of self-control to root himself in place and disregard the thrumming need to mirthfully frolic amid the chaos. Sucking his yellowed teeth, the Joker croaked monotonously, "How can I assist you, Sister Dearest?  
Lacy released a gracious sigh on the other end of the line. "Oh god, you are a true saviour, Jack. No matter how hard you try to hide it." She added teasingly.  
"Y'know, you're insulting my reputation when you say such things." He gripped.  
"Sorry, sorry. Okay, I need you to look after Janessa for a week. I was finally able to get in for the surgery on my knee, but the doctor doing the surgery lives in Metropolis, and I don't exactly have the money to take Janessa with me. So I figured, heck, she rarely gets to see her uncle Jack, and she asks about you sometimes..."  
If the Joker possessed the entirety of the spectrum of human emotion, he would've told his sister he was relieved that she was finally able to receive the surgery, how delighted he'd be to babysit young Janessa, and so forth. Unfortunately, this was not the case and, as Lacy prattled on aimlessly, the only part of the woman's sentence echoing within the lunatic's selfish, lizard brain were '...take Janessa for a week.'  
Janessa was Lacy's ten year-old daughter.  
What did she think he was, _crazy_?

**So, what do you think? :P Should I continue with this story? Or simply leave it as it is and let it collect dust? xD**


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